


The Golden God

by LetheAfterDark (LetheSomething)



Series: Popcorn Porn: Folk Tales [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: 18th Century, F/M, Poetic Porn, Porn with Feelings, Purple Prose, Venezia | Venice, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 06:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10211921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetheSomething/pseuds/LetheAfterDark
Summary: On New Year's Eve you accidentally bring a golden statue to life. He insists on being your date for the evening.A weirdly philosophical and extremely poetic porn short featuring Kise.Female reader





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one is inspired by the amazing (and free!) [Cute Demon Crashers otome game](https://sugarscript.itch.io/cute-demon-crashers).  
> I kind of felt like Kise would be perfect for it.

 

It was New Year's Eve and the city was filled with smells, sounds and light.  
The scent of spiced wine and roast pork drifted through the paved streets and stone passages as you walked, mingling with the flowery, hopeful fragrances of people ambling past. Small bands played on bridges, in courtyards and at street corners, their music tugging at your heartstrings and distracting your friends on the way to the ball. As you walked, the small melodies mingled and were ultimately drowned out by the large orchestra in the Grand Plaza playing the istanpetta's and minuets. You could feel their notes in your bones while you stood, watching the chattering, swaying crowd of townsfolk in their finest outfits, bedazzled and brilliant in the light of multi-coloured lanterns floating down the canals, talking and smiling under intricate masks.  
It was a night that held cheer and love and confidence. A night for dancing, for laughter, for well-wishing and for pleasure.  
And it was this night that your date, the man who'd sworn up and down that you were the love of his life, who had whispered promises of marriage and happiness, who had held your hopes and dreams in his hands for so long, decided to dump you.  
So you weaved between filigree and lace, bodies twirling like cogs in an overstuffed clock, and tried very hard not to pout underneath your peacock mask.  
Your friends were a bit too excited for your tastes tonight, and two of them were entirely too drunk already.  
They urged you to dance and they were right, of course. Your body was eager to move with the music, but your mind was clouded, holding you back while you watched this mass of people and get lost in the sparkles and colours.  
After a while, even that was too much.

With a small smile and a short wave, you left your friends behind, carefully making your way out of the large banqueting hall to take a breath of air.  
You walked around the square outside, where more couples were waltzing in the light of a thousand candles and you ascended the stone steps across the canal, towards the market. It was quieter here, the regular stalls and chanting merchants replaced with a bunch of tables, a giant barrel of wine and a lone fiddler. More people stood here, doing something that was ostensibly a dance, but more closely resembled a make-out session.  
You shook your head and wandered on, lost in petty thoughts and self-pity, until you found yourself alone in the Square of the Golden God.  
At least, that's what it was called by the people in the city. Officially, the place carried the holy title of some saint or other. You could never remember his name and neither did anyone else.  
It was a small square, close by the river, used by the washer women of the larger houses. There were cisterns for the laundry, and a few benches and bushes.  
Two porticos, on either side, would provide relief in the height of summer, trapping shade and cool air between marble columns and a shingled roof. Right now they were maws of darkness under the moonlight, holding empty threats and promises of secrecy.  
In the middle of the square stood the statue that gave the place its unofficial name. It was eerily lifelike in appearance and covered in a timeless golden sheen. It depicted a tall, perfectly sculpted and thoroughly naked man with shoulder length hair and a suggestive smile. He had one hand on his hip and one stretched out before him, as if asking you to dance.  
No one knew who it was supposed to be. Some historian in the palace claimed him to be an ancient sun god, and he certainly was radiant enough. The statue had stood there for as long as anyone remembered, never losing its luster.  
But even then, parts of it were definitely, noticeably shinier than others.  
These were the parts that the washer women rubbed 'for luck' and people in town hall kept trying to cover these particular bits with marble leaves, but they never seemed to stick around.  
So there he stood, the golden god, proud in all his salacious glory, skin gleaming softly in the light of the lanterns drifting by.

You looked up at the sculpture and sighed, before casting a weary glance at your own reflection in one of the wash basins in 'his' square. You made a passable attempt at being festive. Your dress, while slightly too frilly for your tastes, was damn near perfect. It hugged your hips in a way that was not quite innocent, while the skirt flowed around you like swaying grass. It would have made a very pretty image for, say, a proposal.  
Grumbling under your breath, you took off your mask and pulled out a handkerchief to dab the moisture from your face. You crossed the square and collapsed on the steps at the sculpture's feet, staring out at the river and the candles drifting by. Only the vaguest of melodies reached your ears now, while the cold stung your face in a way that calmed some of the mess in your head.  
“Well, pretty boy,” you mumbled, patting the foot of the statue behind you, “Looks like it's just you and me. How would you like to be my date tonight?”

A gust of wind rustled the bushes around you and blew ripples onto the water. It carried the tones of a violin and, perhaps, a small chuckle.  
“If that's what you want, how could I refuse?” came a lightly amused voice from behind you.  
You jumped up, spinning around to find the statue gone. In its stead stood a man of flesh and blood, one arm outstretched as if beckoning you to come closer. He smiled, twinkle in his eye and moon shining down to light up his skin.  
A lot of his skin.  
“Oh my god!” you squeaked, immediately hiding behind your hands and peeking at this man through splayed fingers. He had dark blond hair and golden eyes, and he looked exactly like the statue. Down to the details intimately memorized by the washer women.  
“Ah, my apologies, I didn't mean to hurt your delicate sensibilities, Signorina”, the man said, running a hand through his hair and smiling apologetically. “Would you mind looking away for a moment?”  
Whatever shock had nailed you to the ground finally lifted and you blinked, turned around and proceeded to stomp out of the square.

“Signorina!”  
The man's voice followed you, sounding slightly hurt.  
“Oi, will you wait?”  
You hurried across the pavement following the canal, biting back the tears, when he got closer and lightly touched your arm.  
“Signorina?”  
With a huff, you slapped it away. “Get away from me you fr-”  
The words died in your throat and you froze, staring mutely at the man before you. His eyes narrowed in amusement at your expression.  
“Better?” he asked. You nodded meekly.

He'd found clothes.  
You weren't sure how he'd done it so quickly, but he'd found clothes.  
Amazing ones.  
The man before you wore a tailored velvet suit the colour of summer sky, embroidered with delicate images of birds stitched with gold thread. It was the kind of suit that you would have to order months in advance. You knew, because it matched the dress you'd moved heaven and earth to get.  
He looked amazing in it. Like royalty, perhaps, or like a pagan deity.  
“You forgot your mask”, he said, lips curled warmly as he held up the slightly scuffed peacock.  
“Oh”, you mouthed.  
Gears were clicking in your head, making it hard to form words. Part of you was still trying to decide if you should flee when he spoke again.  
“And if I recall correctly, you also left behind your date.”  
He flashed you a grin that could melt steel.  
“I... wuh?”  
He blinked, confident smile never leaving his face. “Don't tell me you're ditching me already, Signorina? I realize someone as radiant as you will have her pick of men, but you did ask, and it would break my heart if you left me now.”  
“Oh.”  
You blinked, desperately trying to make the gears spin into some kind of conclusion.

This was wrong. It made no sense whatsoever.  
It couldn't possibly be real, part of you was certain of it.  
Perhaps it was a fever dream, or some nobleman playing a prank on you?  
Another, ever growing part quickly stopped caring.  
You were alone on a night that was made for couples, and you had nothing to lose.  
You looked up at the man, radiant in his suit and dressed in charms, and curtsied.  
“Will you take me to the ball, Signore?”  
“Of course,” he said, smiling widely while he bowed.  
He held up your mask again. “Would you like me to put it back on?” he asked.  
“Oh... kay.” You stood nervously, trying to keep your bearings, while he gently placed the peacock over your nose and carefully tied the ribbon behind your head, not disturbing a single strand of laboriously pinned up hair.  
“There”, he said, “magnificent.”  
With that, he put on a jester mask of his own, covering most of his face and his golden hair, leaving only two sparkling eyes and a devilish grin.  
“Shall we?” he said, holding out an arm.  
Small smile on your lips, you linked arms with him and walked back to the banqueting hall.

 

New Year's Eve went by in a blur.  
There was a lot of dancing. There was wine and laughter and confidence.  
And through it all there were the golden eyes of your mysterious suitor, glimmering at you from behind a jester's mask, burning with a fire that was anything but innocent.  
It was a flame that made your knees go weak whenever he kissed your hand on your way to the dance floor, or when he'd glance at you in the middle of a conversation with one of your friends.  
He had a knack for making you feel like the only person in the room, the only person in the whole world that could hold his attention like this, and he did it all while charming the socks off your friends.  
Even when you switched partners in the middle of a dance, he would always return, sharing some compliment, reassuringly squeezing your arm before leading you back out of the fray to gather your breath. You were happy for your mask, in these moments, because no amount of make-up would be able to hide your blush, or your staring eyes, when you observed the way he placed his grinning lips on a glass.

At midnight he excitedly pulled the lot of you outside, to the banks of the river, to watch the fireworks over the water.  
He kissed you there, briefly pressing his lips to yours while light exploded into stars overhead and it physically hurt how much you wanted that moment to last.  
But after one heartbeat it was gone and you stood, desperately controlling your breath while everyone around you cheered and kissed and hugged, ringing in the new year.

 

It was almost morning when you found yourself walking the stone steps across one of the canals, being lead by the hand past the market.  
You were giddy and excited, oddly warm and way too energetic for this time of night.  
The man next to you flashed you a smile that only made it worse.  
“Did you have fun tonight, Signorina?” he asked, tugging at your hand to pull you closer, before slinging an arm around your shoulder.  
“Yes, that was wonderful,” you said, “you are an amazing date.”  
It was hard to wipe the smile from your face, even if realization dawned on you that the night was almost over.  
Slowing your pace a little, you looked up at the man next to you.  
“Who are you?” you asked.  
He chuckled. “That's usually the second thing people ask me,” he said.  
“Well it didn't particularly matter until now,” you pouted.  
“You can call me Kise,” he muttered, placing a soft kiss on your hair.  
The two of you walked on in silence until you reached the washer women's square and you stopped.  
“Wow, that statue really is gone, huh,” you mumbled, letting go of the man next to you to investigate the pedestal where it usually stood.  
No marks, no broken stone. It had just up and vanished.  
You turned around to look at your date, standing where you left him, one hand on his hip and his head tilted slightly.  
“What are you?” you asked, so quiet that you yourself could barely hear it.  
But he did.  
“That's usually the first thing people ask me,” he said softly. “Does it matter?”  
“I'm afraid it does.”  
He nodded. “I'll show you then,” he said, making his way to a portico at the edge of the square.  
He looked back and extended an arm, motioning you over before he stepped between the columns and was obscured by shadows.  
Taking a deep breath, you followed.

You found him in one corner, taking off his mask. When you neared, he gently reached behind your head and untied the ribbon holding yours with a single tug. It slid into your open hands.  
“Truly magnificent,” he whispered. You looked up to see him lean in to kiss you again.  
This time, it lasted longer than a mere heartbeat.  
He pressed his mouth to yours, patiently waiting for you to part your lips before pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. It felt like your insides would turn to jelly. His lips were soft and exploring, his hand calmly holding the side of your face and when he took a step back it _ached._  
Two golden eyes burned at you while he moved from the shadows.  
You squinted, vision adjusting until you could see him clearly, and your gut fell out.

He'd changed. This wasn't the statue, and it wasn't the man who'd asked you to the dance before.  
He seemed taller, somehow. His eyes burned brighter and his face had lost some of its tenderness.  
Certainly the horns on his head hadn't been there before.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, pressing yourself against the wall. Something heavy was sitting on your chest, making it hard to breathe.  
He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled that little embarrassed smile he gave you the first time you met.  
“You. You're a demon!” you lamented, pointing at him.  
This made him pout. “That's such a nasty name,” he said.  
“Well what the hell else-”  
“Technically,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against a carved sandstone column, “it's 'incubus'. But that's always sounded rather uncultured to me as well.”  
“I... you.. we, oh god,” you stammered. He frowned, watching patiently while you found some way to put structure to the words tumbling from your mouth.  
“You seduced me! You corrupt maidens and lead them straight to hell.”  
“Oh come now, Signorina,” he whined, knitting his eyebrows further together. “I apologize for taking advantage of the situation, but I assure you I didn't randomly pick out any young woman. I intend to make you feel good.”  
You swallowed, blinking at this man... thing, who was looking at you with a small smirk.  
“I can smell it, you know,” he said, lips curling a little more.  
“Smell what?”  
“Desire,” he said and his golden eyes bore into you.  
You clenched, suddenly aware of all the times this evening that you'd looked at him with shivers running throughout your body. Your face felt very hot all of a sudden.  
“It's nothing to be embarrassed about,” he chuckled. “It's what I do. I feed on it, after all. I can sense desire in every woman and man that walks by my statue, when they can't help but reach out and touch it. I sensed it in you, too, deeper and more needy than I've seen in a long time. It's gnawing at you, how much you _want_. So when you spoke your wish, I couldn't help but wonder how much of that need I could... release.”  
With that, he took a step forward, now only visible as two golden eyes glimmering in the shadows.  
“But if you want me to leave, I will, of course. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”  
His eyes looked down for a moment, and then away, over the square, to the pedestal.

You stood stock still, back cool against the stone wall, nothing here but dark and breath and your heart beating heavily in your chest while the gears in your head spun and spun, endlessly waltzing to a conclusion your blood had reached ages ago.  
A gnawing want, he had called it, putting words to something you'd felt for years.  
A scratching in the back of your head, like a prisoner clawing at the wall of his cell until his fingers were nothing but bloody stumps.  
A want.  
A need.  
He'd dug it up from whatever box you'd hidden it in, buried under layers and layers of mannerisms.  
Even back when you still had a future planned out, it had merely felt proper. It was how the world worked. Whether you enjoyed it or not had nothing to do with it. What you wanted, what you needed mattered not.  
And this was how you'd moved through your existance. You'd spent so long draping yourself in the dusty sheets of propriety, that you'd almost forgotten what it was like to breathe clean air. You'd lost the memory of colour until it exploded into your vision in a single night. You hadn't felt this alive in ages.  
And it fucking hurt.

 

You stretched out an arm, feeling into the dark for a second before grabbing the front of his suit and pulling him toward you. Light fell on his face and revealed a grin, as he angled his head to kiss you the moment you collided.  
“__-chi, you really are a surprising one,” he said, smiling against your lips. “What will you have me do?”  
“Just like you said,” you whispered against his skin, hands trailing his sides. “Make me feel good.”  
Your good name didn't matter any more. Not in this moment.  
You were one small cog in an overstuffed clock, one life easily discarded and replaced by the men who were supposed to love and protect you.  
But not here, not now.  
Not to this creature, who held you up as if you were the whole world, who gently lifted you onto a ledge while his lips made his way down your neck, hands firm and secure on your hips.  
“You are so very lost, little girl,” he murmured in your ear and you could only nod in reply.  
With every kiss, he pulled at your nerves. He played your senses like a lute.  
He gently tugged at the strings with little caresses, soft touches of his hand down your sides. Until his fingers found their way under your skirt, slowly running up your knee in a move that felt as if he strummed every chord at once.  
You sucked in a breath, your hands pulling at his shirt so they could find their way under it.  
“You really are amazing, you know that?” he mumbled, the back of his hand brushing the inside of your thigh while the other rested in the small of your back, propping you up. “You're not nearly as innocent as I first thought.” He lifted his head to kiss your nose.  
“Sorry to disappoint,” you said, and you sank your teeth in his lower lip. Heavy-lidded eyes glinted at you with golden fire.  
“Why would that disappoint me?” he grinned.  
His fingers made their way further up. They moved in a meandering path towards your heat and you found yourself spreading your legs to give him access. It earned you a chuckle. He pecked your lips again, before moving down to your breasts, placing open mouthed kisses on whatever skin he could reach.

When you'd finally found your way under his shirt, hands kneading the tight muscle on his sides, he stepped closer. He positioned himself between your legs, giving your fingers the opportunity to glide over his chest. His warmth was welcome, a radiating glow that battled the cold grip of the marble beneath you.  
“How hard it must be to want something this badly, Signorina.” His voice was low against your cleavage and you could almost hear the smirk as his thumb dipped between your folds and flicked against your clit.  
It was like he'd struck a match.  
With a small mewl you buried your head in his shoulder, trying to stop your voice from ringing out as he slowly rubbed his thumb in little half moons above your clit. You reached beneath the waistband of his pants and tugged him closer, ever closer to you. Your fingers, shaking with desperation, fumbled with the buttons and Kise hissed, a sharp intake of breath.

“You burn so bright, __-chi. You have no idea how delicious you are,” he murmured in your ear.  
He slipped his index between your folds, gliding it up and down in a dance that was too practised, too _good_.  
You clenched, trying to still the twitching of your legs as his finger pushed into your cunt, finding little resistance there.  
It was both painful and sweet, what he did to you. How he touched you with the promise of quenching your need, without actually doing it. How he pulled you closer to salvation, but never quite let you reach it.  
He stoked the fire with every flick of his wrist, with every lap of his tongue, until you groaned in frustration and fully undid his pants, revealing the secret sight so fondly shared by the washer women.  
His cock was somehow more beautiful, more proud without its golden sheen.  
He removed his hand from between your legs and briskly stroked it, eyes glinting at you while you watched him become fully erect.

“Are you ready?” he whispered and you nodded, too quick to be proper.  
He gripped your thighs and moved closer.  
No one had touched you like this, with complete confidence and the penultimate goal to make you fall apart.  
There was no impatience, no clumsiness. He sank into you, eyes open as he looked at you with a mild smile that never left your face.

“Oh god,” you sighed, closing your eyes and letting your head fall against his chest.  
“He is not one to call right now,” Kise murmured in a low voice.  
He moved in long, slow strokes, reaching somewhere deep inside you with a friction that felt, despite your position, divine.  
You were quick to lose yourself to the calm ebb and flow of his thrusts, the way the pressure kept building over time, as if scratching the itch only made it worse.  
He pressed his lips to your forehead.  
“Look at me,” he murmured and you blinked up, eyes like molten gold baring down on you.  
He leaned in to kiss you and you could feel his hand slide up your thigh, thumb gently stroking you. It was too much, way too much as the feelings of desire and guilt, joy and rejection came spilling over all at once.  
“Kise,” you whimpered, a hot breath against his lips. It was like a dam had burst somewhere inside of you. Years of holding yourself like a lady, hours, days and nights of painful practice to be proper, mannered, elegant and it all went to naught with a long stretched moan.  
But Kise just chuckled and held you closer, a calm cadence to ground you as you quaked in his hold.  
Before long, you could feel his breath quicken and he buried his nose in your hair to steel himself, coming inside you with a deep sigh.  
“You feel so good,” he murmured, slowly coming to a halt. He planted small kisses on your forehead, making his way down your nose to your mouth. “You make quite the meal, Signorina,” he smiled against your lips, “I made you feel better, huh?”  
With a smirk, you nodded, pulling him closer again.

 

It was New Year's day when you woke up in the crisp sheets of your own bed and stared out the window at the cold grey sky. You were oddly tired but for the first time since you were a child, your head was clear and your heart had a voice.  
From your window you had a clear view of the bustling street below. On the canal, barges were already being pushed along, carrying vegetables, or fabric, or exotic spices.  
Across the water was the square that the washer women used, and you could just about make out the gleam of the statue at its centre, morning light shining down on his immaculately sculpted features. The golden god stood with one hand on his hip, the other outstretched, as if asking you to dance.

 


End file.
